


Inevitable

by incandescence



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, exchange fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescence/pseuds/incandescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things in life that are inevitable. Keito doesn’t have all the answers, but he thinks that returning to Japan was always going to be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faded-lace](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faded-lace).



> Written for faded-lace for the 2014 FQF summer exchange. Somewhat inspired by Keito’s 10k interview.

Keito _finally_ spies his suitcase, only just emerging from the conveyor belt chute. It’s all the way on the other side so Keito waits for it to reach him, wondering idly how many times it circled past before he noticed it.

He really should get a more visible luggage tag for it, he thinks as he shoots an arm out to claim the bag. There’s one on it now, an old, plastic yellow one, but it’s faded now after years of use and he’s never bothered to get a replacement.

Keito pulls his cap a little further down his face and makes his way slowly through the lobby, where scattered groups of people are reuniting, all the way to the taxi stand. The old man offered to pick him up from the airport but something came up in his schedule, so Keito had told him not to worry about it. After all, when he moves, they’ll have plenty of time to make up for lost years.

It’s been around five. Keito loves both places, England and Japan, but what ultimately made him choose between his two homes after twenty five years, is that Japan is where his family is.

Keito enters the queue, closes his eyes, and leans back against the railing to wait for his ride home.

 

 

 

 

 

The one thing he hadn’t missed about travelling halfway across the world is the resulting jet lag that ruins his schedule for four days after he flies. When he gets home he only manages to sleep at 5am, then doesn’t wake up until three in the afternoon, starving, weak, and still damn tired.

With much effort, Keito drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen, thankfully restocked by his father before he’d left Tokyo. Keito stays awake just long enough to grab whatever he can that doesn’t need to be prepared in advance, wolf it down, then stagger back to bed.

When he gets his body clock back to normal a few, agonising days later, Keito’s just glad he’d come earlier than when he needed to be, the classes for the intensive language course he’s taking only starting the following week.

There’s a notepad near the phone on the countertop, where he sits writing his grocery list, and Keito remembers that’s where his Dad scribbles down the few messages from others, to pass them along when they have the chance to call. He leans over to take a look. Some of these are years old, bringing back memories of lonely nights in his dorm, when he desperately wanted to call home even though he should have been sleeping.

A collective farewell from the drama studio he’d attended as a child. A message from an old friend of his, Chinen Yuri, saying that he missed sitting on Keito’s lap during break times like he used to when they back-danced together. Keito remembers this one. His Dad had gone to the agency when Chinen was having a rehearsal a few years ago. They’d exchanged greetings and pleasantries; Chinen had asked him to say something to Keito, too. He’d glad to learn that Chinen hadn’t entirely lost all the playfulness that so endeared him to everyone.

Keito briefly scans over the rest of the messages before a familiar name catches his eye, and he hesitates. Nakajima Yuto. Dad had told him he’d come by the house after Keito had already left the last time he’d been back. He’d always told himself he’d go visit him when he returned to Japan, but of course, Keito never did, and eventually he forgot about it. There’s a number scrawled in his Dad’s handwriting next to Yuto’s name.

He leaves the notepad face down on that page while he goes out to run errands, but three hours later he comes back and reaches for the phone, hoping that the number is still in use.

 

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time, Keito thinks he may have been in love with Yuto. Back then, he used to come back to Japan every summer and winter to spend time with his Dad and the few friends he had from his early back-dancing days. He’d stopped dancing just before entering high school because he was awful at it, but Yuto hadn’t let that be a reason to dissolve their friendship, still inviting Keito to stay over at his place when his Dad was away like nothing had changed. Aside from his parents, it was Yuto he always looked forward to seeing most whenever he came to visit.

The summer of his second year at University, Keito had wanted to confess because his feelings were eating him up inside. All he knew was that he had to let Yuto know. Hopefully Yuto would understand and reject him gently, so they could forget about it and move on.

In the end, Yuto was so busy they could only meet once - the weekend after Yuto turned twenty. They’d had a few drinks, Keito fidgeting quietly in anticipation, waiting for the right moment to change the topic, then Yuto was standing up, regretfully informing him that he had work early the next morning and see you again soon.

They hadn’t seen each other since.

Two days later, Keito boarded a plane back to England. Semester picked up again, and a few long, drawn-out decisions were enough for Keito to be sucked into an unbelievable whirlwind of events.

He never forgot about his feelings, but after a while he stopped looking back.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey,” a muffled voice greets him, low against his ear, amidst all the surrounding chatter.

A second later, Keito’s stomach lurches. When Keito stands up to shake his hand, Yuto pulls him into an enthusiastic hug.

Their conversation on the phone had been brief because Yuto was in the middle of work, so Keito was nervous, unsure of what to expect. He’d even arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed time, only to walk back out and wander around a little more. With Yuto in front of him now, however, mask pulled down to beam at him, it’s almost as though nothing has changed, that five years hasn’t gone by in the blink of an eye. Significantly more relaxed, he sits down again to order drinks.

“How have you been?” Yuto asks when they clink glasses, pulling off his beanie. One glance is enough to tell Keito that Yuto’s been too busy to get his hair cut again, or just plain lazy - it’s a little longer than he knows Yuto likes. Keito self-consciously toys with the ends of his own slightly damaged hair. “Last time we met you were at university, right?”

Keito nods and sets his beer down on the table in front of him. “Yeah. Economics was terrible so I switched to Literature. I graduated a few years ago.” Yuto isn’t at all surprised, just nods, and Keito knows he’s remembering all the times they used to go to cafes together, sitting in silence fiddling with cameras and reading Shakespeare.

The stream of questions don’t stop for the rest of the night - when Yuto gets excited, everything begins to feel like an interrogation. It’s comforting in a way, and Keito finds that the night quickly slips by, curious to find out which parts of Yuto have, and haven’t, changed.

There doesn’t seem to be much. Yuto’s calmer than he used to be, and has more confidence than Keito remembers, but Keito still sees the sincerity shine through.

Whey they eventually leave the bar, Yuto asks how long he’ll be here for this time.

“About two months, for now.” Longer would be ideal, because he hasn’t seen either of his parents in ages, but it’s all Keito can spare right now. He’s been telling himself that he might be back later, anyway, but it’s always difficult to leave Japan.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? I’m really glad you called me,” Yuto beams again and claps Keito on the shoulder.

Keito smiles back. “Me too.”

 

 

 

 

 

They used to talk about their dreams all the time. Yuto wanted to do everything. Keito had been interested in acting since elementary school. In high school he joined the community theatre, over the years working his way up from non-speaking roles to main supporting acts. Drama school tempted him when he graduated, but with his celebrity father and back-dancing in a big agency, Keito felt he had a fair understanding of how the entertainment industry worked.

So he decided on Economics. A broad, useful subject would be good for him, he thought. It bored him to tears. After two years of it he decided he no longer wanted to go to class just to sleep on his desk.

Shortly after his transfer, Keito was lucky enough to be scouted. His work varies. Some months it’s theatre. Other times it’s commercials or television roles. Not all his roles are big, but Keito loves them all. He teaches too, once a month, at the local theatre. He’d been approached by his old teacher and jumped at the opportunity. Once a month Keito thinks he enjoys this more than acting itself.

Sometimes things in life just fall into place, and Keito never ceases to be amazed when pathways finally unravel themselves in front of him.

 

 

 

 

He would gladly stay in bed all day if it were up to him, but when Yuto calls at 11am one morning, Keito naturally picks up. It’s Yuto’s day off so he wants to meet, to get some lunch and “terrorise” the streets of Tokyo just like they used to.

The first stop is a bookstore near Keito’s house, where he picks up books needed for his course and ends up wandering around other shelves. He doesn’t notice Yuto trying to get his attention for at least seven pages of _Fingerstyle Guitar: A Complete Guide._.

“Don’t you have bookstores in England?”

Leaning against the shelf in question and smirking, Yuto loses his balance when Keito swats the book at him.

“I want to move back here,” Keito later tells him during lunch, when Yuto asks why he’s taking the course. “Nothing’s confirmed yet,” he adds, seeing Yuto’s eyes light up. “But it should happen soon.” He’s in a play right after he returns to England. After that, nothing is set in stone.

Ramen, then billiards, used to be their longstanding tradition. He’d taught Yuto the basic theory one evening in the dressing room after they’d both given up on their homework. From then on, Yuto wouldn’t stop asking him to play so together they looked for a game center, which soon became a frequent meeting spot. Yuto never won a match, but he was an attentive student, crying out with comic awe each time Keito successfully pocketed a ball.

As soon as he sets his chopsticks down and folds his napkin into a little square, Yuto’s flashes him a grin. “Wanna play?”

Come nightfall, Yuto has still never won a match.

 

 

 

 

 

Over the next few weeks they keep meeting, and spending time together becomes routine all over again. Keito’s reminded of when they were younger, after he’d left the agency. Yuto was often busy with work; on those days, Keito either stayed at home sleeping, spent time with one of his parents, or explored the city. If he found anything worthwhile, he’d go again with Yuto. At the time, Keito thought Yuto had been impressed, but thinking about it now, that reaction may have been exaggerated.

Now, when he’s not in class, he takes the time to learn his lines, study, or visit his Mum. There’s also an old guitar in the living room that he strums occasionally. His Dad once tried to teach him when he was younger, but he’d resisted, so now Keito can only play a few chords and one simple melody.

When Yuto has time they hang out or grab a quick bite to eat at nearby restaurants, sometimes, but not often, with some of the other members of JUMP. Keito used to be friends with them, so they’re _mostly_ warm reunions - Hikaru pretends to not remember who he is for an entire night, then squeezes him in a tight hug right before they part ways. One day they take him survival gaming, and Keito doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without it.

It’s at karaoke one night, five weeks into his visit, that Keito begins to feel a familiar feeling stir in his chest. Yuto is talking animatedly to him, Yamada and Chinen about his trip to Okinawa last month. He’s recommending something about April, and to absolutely bring a camera, but Keito’s not concentrating at all. Yuto’s eyelashes are way too long, he notes, and the absolute seriousness with which he tells his story makes Keito smile. He wants to reach out to brush a distracting stray strand of hair away from Yuto’s eyes, maybe trace a finger along a cheekbone. Then Yuto is staring at him, head tilted in mild confusion, and Keito realises they’re all staring at him, actually, and nobody’s saying a word.

“...What?”

Everyone makes fun of him for spacing out. Keito only sees Yuto, throwing his head back as he laughs.

Though his heart beats too fast in his chest and his brain feels as though it’s running on overdrive, Keito picks up the microphone and shakily begins to sing.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s been through this before, so after the initial shock wears off Keito simply resigns himself to the fact that his feelings are back. Maybe they were never even gone. Whatever it is, Keito’s tired of fighting it. He resigns himself, and then does nothing, because right now all he wants to do is enjoy Yuto’s company once again, without wondering if, why, where, when, or how.

 

 

 

 

 

His Dad comes back on an evening neither can be bothered going out, Yuto having just come back from work, Keito having just finished class. Yuto’s sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch that Keito fully occupies, and they both turn when he enters the living room.

“I’m back! Oh, Nakajima-kun. Long time no see.”

“How was your trip?” Keito asks, hauling himself upright to hug his father.

It’s nice in Kyoto this time of year, and the show had been successful. Dad recalls something and makes a pained face. “I had to wait ages for my luggage again.”

Yuto looks almost reproachful; Keito bites back a laugh.

Once, in their second year of junior high, Yuto had accompanied them to the airport. Keito didn’t want to say goodbye so he’d ignored him almost completely, walking obstinately around the airport while Yuto stayed with his Dad. He’d only gotten back, right after the final boarding call, to see Yuto fiddling with his carry-on luggage.

“What are you doing?” he’d demanded. Yuto hadn’t answered, but his Dad had glanced over the top of his head to give him a knowing glance he hadn’t understood the meaning of at the time.

Before he’d had a chance to look, he’d been pushed urgently towards the gate by two pairs of hands. It was only when Keito pulled his bags from the overhead compartment once the plane had landed that he found a bright yellow tag attached to one of them.

He turns back to a similar look on his Dad’s face. This time, Keito pointedly looks away.

 

 

 

 

 

He completes the course without too many problems and as usual, waits until the last possible moment to start packing. After spending half the afternoon packing, unpacking and sitting on different sides of his suitcase in futile attempts to close it, he has to call his Mum to help.

“I’m not moving back anymore,” he decides, watching from his bed as she deftly re-rolls all his now-crumpled clothes and stores them neatly inside with the rest of his belongings. “I’m staying in England and never flying again.”

She shuts the suitcase with a snap and turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think Nakajima is going to want to move to England.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say you’d miss me?” he protests, ignoring the clear implications of her words. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. Or possibly ever. When she merely smiles at him, Keito sighs and asks where she wants to go for dinner.

He memorises the last of his lines on the plane back and then throws himself into rehearsals a week after he touches down. Sometimes Keito doesn’t get back home until midnight, and when things start to pick up across all the production departments involved, he has to leave the apartment by six.

His busy schedule ensures that he has very little time to miss Yuto; generally only during his daily stint in the makeup chair, or when he’s trying to sleep at night. Sometimes he imagines that they’re in his house again, lounging on the couch with Yuto’s head on Keito’s lap, both laughing at something on television. Sometimes he dreams of Yuto’s lips, hot and wet around him, long fingers dancing lightly up and down, tongue running firmly underneath. Keito wakes up sweating in the middle of the night, writhing in his sheets and gasping for air.

Once he even entertains the idea of making the quip he’d made to his mother come true, but only very briefly.

By now, Keito thinks he knows himself pretty well. He can’t just leave things the way they are, when he hasn’t even tried once.

 

 

 

 

 

Seven months later, Japan is now his home. Keito takes two days to unpack everything and tidy up, then another three days to muster up the courage to pick up the phone again.

The night they meet his well-rehearsed speech flies from his brain, and Keito sits beside Yuto staring intently at his glass. He can’t meet Yuto’s eyes, and mentally curses himself for his moment of weakness until Yuto gently turns him by the shoulders and wraps him in a tight hug.

“I missed you too,” Yuto breathes into his ear, and from the way Yuto clings on a little longer than he usually does, the way they both search each other’s eyes when they part, Keito knows those four little words mean so much more. He shifts as close to Yuto in their small booth as he dares to in a crowded restaurant, and Yuto takes his hand.

“I did look for you the winter after,” Yuto says later when Keito quietly tells him about his first failed attempt.

He nods. “Disaster Winter. I got sick immediately after my exams.” Keito pauses, reflecting. “I failed one. I had to resit it in the summer.”

His hand is squeezed a little tighter.

“I actually did come back afterwards, but JUMP was on tour.” He’d was only here for a week; the week before semester started again. “I stayed with Mum the entire time.”

Yuto’s laugh is anguished against his shoulder. “Our timing was great that year.”

Keito inhales deeply. The scent of Yuto is intoxicating, overwhelming, and he can’t get enough. There’s very few people around now. When he tugs on a sleeve, Yuto sits up to look at him, face inches from his own. “I don’t want to leave you tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing lightly against Yuto’s jaw.

“Come over tonight,” Yuto whispers, pressing a kiss to Keito’s temple.

 

 

 

 

 

He wakes up in the unfamiliar apartment to Yuto watching him, one elbow propped up on the pillow.

“Stop being so creepy,” Keito says, but he can’t stop himself from smiling a little.

Yuto just smirks at him. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“If it’s still morning, I haven’t slept enough yet,” Keito informs him through a yawn, ignoring Yuto’s snicker. He sighs and shifts around in the bed as if to go back to sleep, but his eyes remain open.

When Yuto leans forward, nudging their noses together as though asking for permission, Keito reciprocates until their lips meet.

 

 

 

 

 

After all that, Keito thinks that moving in together was bound to happen, eventually. Between the acting jobs he’s got lined up as well as Yuto’s own heavy workload, it feels as though they were always moving towards this event in mind right from the get-go. Keito doesn’t even bat an eyelid when Yuto suggests it one night, tangled together on his sofa, the television ignored in favour of eagerly roaming hands.

“You wanna stay?” Yuto whispers after Keito mumbles something about going home soon, tracing invisible lines down Keito’s sides underneath his shirt. He arches, the trails of warmth not leaving him even after Yuto’s fingers have long moved elsewhere. “I don’t just mean tonight.”

“That tickles,” Keito protests, but then he’s saying _yes, of course_ , and gasping when Yuto mouths down his throat. Fingers slowly inch their way lower, _lower_ ; a palm rubs the front of his jeans, and Keito’s wearing far too many clothes.

All he wants to do is to unpack and find proper places for all his belongings when he does move in a week later, but Yuto stops him by grabbing his wrist in the entrance hall and drags him all the way to the bedroom. Keito’s instincts kick in as soon as the door closes behind him, and he spins Yuto around to kiss him fiercely.

Yuto pulls once; they tumble to the bed in a tangled heap, but neither of them stop, their kisses quick, rough, and desperate. Keito sneaks a hand under his t-shirt, pushing it up and off. Everything else follows in slow succession, though there’s trouble with Keito’s shirt because they both fumble with the buttons.

“ _Keito_.” What comes out as a sigh is followed by a moan that joins his own when he straddles Yuto’s waist to align their half-hard cocks.

“How do you want it this time?” he murmurs against Yuto’s lips, slowly rolling his hips once. He groans. It feels so good just like this. Keito wants to do this more, maybe even grab Yuto’s ass as he grinds, and it takes almost all his willpower to forces himself to shift back a little. Yuto gasps and tries to rut against him, but Keito’s hands drop from Yuto’s shoulders to his hips to keep him in place.

Yuto growls, glaring up at him. “Tease,” he accuses, like he does every time, and tries again. Keito’s stronger though, and he gives up with a whine.

“Since when did you become such a tease?” he’d grumbled into his neck once, one arm flung carelessly over Keito’s chest as they caught their breath back.

“You bring it out in me,” he’d replied. He also doesn’t know what it is about Yuto’s extremely vocal impatience during sex that he finds somewhat amusing and very, _very_ , hot.

“I want you to fuck me.” Yuto’s hips rock up of their own accord when Keito’s hands leave them, reaching over to Yuto’s - no, _their_ \- bedside table to take the bottle of lube from the drawer. Yuto sits up slightly and makes a gesture as though to kiss him, but Keito goes down and not up, lowering himself to kiss a trail down Yuto’s abs, tongue flicking at his navel when he reaches it. Keito huffs with amusement when Yuto whines again, and the puff of air that skims across his stomach makes Yuto squirm beneath him even more.

He swirls his tongue just below the head of Yuto’s erection, ragged moans fueling him on as he curls a hand around and strokes at the same time. Only when Yuto yells his name again, louder and more urgent, does he stop. The bottle is taken from him when he comes back up, and as he leans in for another deep kiss, Keito shudders at the first cool touch of Yuto’s fingers on him. Legs raised up above his head Yuto uses lube on himself, Keito’s cock twitching against his stomach as he watches those fingers disappear into the place he wants to be. Keito raises an eyebrow at how slow they’re going, not even very deep; he’s surprised Yuto has the patience right now to even mock him.

“Now who’s the tease?”

Yuto just grins up at him, eyes sly. “Hurry up, then,” he says, and the challenge doesn’t leave his eyes until Keito bats his hand away. Long legs wrap around his torso and nails dig into his shoulders once he finally pushes in.

“Move,” Yuto commands in a low whisper against his jaw but Keito’s already half a step ahead, and he’s definitely not keeping still. They’ve done this enough times by now for him to know exactly how Yuto likes it, and so hands flat on the bed on either side of Yuto, Keito is moving.

It’s rough and fast when he first pounds in, each gasp and moan telling him he’s hitting the right spot. Then, Keito hooks Yuto’s legs over his arms, to slow all the way down, and this is when he leans in to press kisses, light and feathery, along Yuto’s collarbones and across his neck. Sometimes Yuto grabs Keito’s lips with his own, and even more warmth spreads inside Keito when their tongues find each other.

Yuto shoves a hand between them to touch himself and Keito would be tempted to stop and watch, Yuto’s eyes fluttering shut as his hand flies up and down, were it not for the rising pressure in his dick to indicate how close he is. He speeds up again instead, thrusts not as rhythmic as before, and then he comes in silence, clenching and shuddering as he spills deep inside Yuto. Still trembling, Keito continues to push inside as best as he can, not letting himself collapse until Yuto spurts onto both their stomachs with a soft cry.

Still out of breath, Keito detangles himself and stretches out on his side. “Shower,” he murmurs when Yuto rolls towards him with a grunt, but neither make the effort to move when Yuto winces and agrees.

They lie there in silence for a while longer until Yuto props himself up on his elbows. “Welcome home,” he says, and headbutts his shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

“My students are the cutest,” Keito declares when he enters the living room, having just come back from the first day of class.

“You say that every year,” Yuto reminds him. Keito lets himself be pulled onto the couch, and leans his whole body onto him with a face of content.

It’s true, he does, but it’s not his fault kids keep getting cuter each year. _His_ students, especially.

“My students are the cutest,” he stubbornly claims, even though he knows how ridiculous his words are. They’re also incredibly hardworking, and Keito could burst with how proud he is of them, every week in rehearsals as well as when they transform on the stage.

Yuto agrees, clearly humouring him, and Keito thinks this marks the end of their conversation, but then-- “Girl or boy?” Yuto wants to know later, setting down the peeler and his half-peeled potato on the kitchen countertop to peer at him through his glasses.

Keito thinks he’s had his answer to this for years. “Both.” Having finished his share of the vegetables, Keito picks up the one Yuto’s forgotten. “One of each.”


End file.
